This past week, I had the opportunity to attend an Authentic Movement retreat a chance to step away from facilitating movement for others and simply move for myself. There was no choreography to follow. No particular place I needed to arrive. I could listen for an impulse and follow it, allowing one movement to lead into another. At times, I found a position that felt good. Comfortable. Safe. And then I would wonder: What happens if I go a little further? Maybe I extended my

There are times when we learn to make ourselves smaller. We soften our voice, hold back an opinion, temper our energy, or move through the world in ways that feel safe, familiar, or expected. Sometimes we do this so gradually that we don’t even realize we’re doing it. But identity isn’t still. It moves. As we grow, different parts of ourselves begin asking for more room. A stronger voice. A clearer boundary. A willingness to challenge. A side of ourselves that may feel bolder

This past week, I spent three full days immersed in a virtual conference alongside other creatives working on their craft and the business behind their work. It was inspiring, overwhelming, energizing, and focusing. Being in that environment reminded me there is always room to grow in how we approach our work—with greater intention, preparation, and professionalism. One message stayed with me: Be prepared for your success. Success begins long before an opportunity arrives. It

Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about men’s mental health. I’ve found myself becoming increasingly curious about the spaces available for men to explore emotion, expression, connection, and movement. In conversations I’ve had with men, I keep coming back to expression. What does it mean to express emotion as a man? What feels safe to share? What doesn’t? And how much permission do men actually feel they have to explore parts of themselves that may not always have an obvious

I wonder if we've become so uncomfortable with boredom that we never give it the chance to do its work. The moment there's a pause, we reach for something: a screen, a notification, another task. We fill every quiet moment, forgetting that boredom isn't emptiness. It's a blank canvas, quietly waiting for our minds to begin creating. Today I found myself mentally tired, so instead of searching harder for an idea, I went for a simple walk. No agenda. No podcast. No music. Just

Lately, I’ve been thinking about consistency. I’ve stayed consistent with going to the gym, and I’ve noticed what that practice gives me, the opportunity to challenge my body, feel my strength, focus my attention, and reconnect with myself. But consistency can be easy to lose. Life gets busy. Routines change. We get tired. Sometimes a few missed days become a few weeks, and before we know it, something that was once part of our rhythm has faded into the background. It made me

This morning, I pressed record before I had a plan. There was no choreography. No perfect lighting. No expectation that it had to look a certain way. I simply danced. Movement has always been one of the ways I reconnect with myself. It made me wonder how much of our lives we spend editing ourselves before anyone else has the chance. We soften our laughter. We hide our enthusiasm. We second-guess our ideas. We wonder if we're too much... or somehow not enough. Little by little

There is something remarkable about what happens when we stop asking our minds to do all the work. Today, I spent time in the warm water of a hot spring. I noticed the warmth against my skin, the cool breeze, the scent of the earth, and the gentle sounds of birds. Nothing extraordinary happened. And yet, I left feeling more grounded. It made me wonder how often we search for peace by doing more, when sometimes the invitation is simply to pay attention. Our senses have a way o

Growth rarely begins with confidence. More often, it begins with uncertainty. It begins the moment we try something unfamiliar and hear the quiet voice that says, "What if I look silly?" or "What if I'm doing it wrong?" The body often hesitates before it moves. The first invitation to move can feel surprisingly vulnerable. Even people who are comfortable talking about their thoughts may hesitate when invited to express themselves through movement. Why? Because movement has a

Today I was reminded that the body often says what words cannot. I met with a client whose second language is English. At times, finding the right words to fully express their inner experience was difficult. But as I gently invited movement instead of explanation, something beautiful unfolded. Without needing to explain, they found themselves reaching... reaching for someone who was no longer there. They discovered themselves wrapping their own arms around their body, realizi

There are days when the mind becomes convincing. The stories grow loud. The future feels impossible. The bed feels safer than the day waiting outside of it. In those moments, we often believe we need a new thought, a better perspective, more motivation. But sometimes the mind is not the doorway forward, sometimes the body is. Before the walk comes standing. Before standing comes sitting. Before sitting comes a breath. One small movement. Then another. The remarkable thing is

Recently, I've been reflecting on partnership. There is a certain intimacy that develops when we allow another person to know us. Through listening. Through vulnerability. Through moments of trust. The same is true in our relationship with ourselves. The body's vocabulary reveals itself. A knot in the stomach. A tightening in the chest. A deep, unexpected breath. The more attention we give, the more familiar the language becomes. Like any meaningful partnership, the relations

One thing I've thought about often as a Dance/Movement Therapist is how challenging movement can be. As a dancer myself, that might sound like a strange thing to say. I've spent much of my life moving, both personally and professionally. Movement has been a source of joy, creativity, connection, and self-expression. Yet some of the most memorable experiences during my DMT training were also some of the most challenging. I remember feeling uncomfortable moving in ways that fel

Client: I should probably tell you something before we begin. Dance/Movement Therapist (DMT): Okay. Client: I'm not a dancer. DMT: Tell me more. Client: I don't know any steps. I have no rhythm. I've never danced in my life. DMT: What if none of that mattered? Client: Then what would I be doing here? I notice their hands gripping one another. Their shoulders are lifted. One foot taps quietly against the floor. They haven't taken a single step. Yet their body is already speaki

Some relationships feel like exhaling. Others feel like bracing. Lately, I’ve been thinking about how relationships live not only in the mind, but in the body. I often think about human connection as choreography: the unconscious rhythms we fall into with one another, the ways we reach, retreat, soften, or guard. The body notices long before the mind fully understands. There are relationships that invite expansion: • You feel more like yourself in their presence. • Conversati

A single step. A breath inhaled. A change of weight. Who knew something so simple could gently whisk you into the world of presence? For a fleeting moment, we arrive fully into the here and now. And there we are. Present. Aware. Connected. We spend so much of our lives moving quickly through our thoughts — replaying, planning, worrying, analyzing — often pulled away from the moment we are actually living. Yet sometimes, presence returns through the simplest things. Movement h

It asks us to unlearn performance. In Dance/Movement Therapy, there is a practice called Authentic Movement. At its core, it is beautifully simple and profoundly difficult. One person moves. One person witnesses. The mover closes their eyes and follows internal impulses alone. No choreography. No expectation. No performance. The invitation is simple: move only because your body asks you to. Stretch if your body wants to stretch. Curl inward if your body seeks safety. Be still

Stillness is often marketed as something peaceful. Meditation apps show serene landscapes. Wellness culture tells us to slow down. Social media romanticizes quiet mornings and perfectly curated routines. And while peace can come from slowing down… that’s not always what people experience when they first try it. Sometimes quiet feels deeply uncomfortable. You sit down for a few moments and suddenly your mind becomes louder than ever. Your to-do list starts running You replay o

“Movement is meaningless.” An unusual statement, perhaps especially coming from a Dance/Movement Therapist. After all, movement is often spoken about as symbolic. A gesture means grief. A posture means confidence. A pace means anxiety. Folded arms mean resistance. Tears during movement mean release. But I’d like to offer something different: Movement, on its own, is meaningless. Not empty. Not unimportant. Not without value. Meaningless in the sense that movement does not com

There is a moment I witness often in my work. A pause. A pullback. A body poised at the edge of movement… and not quite yet letting itself go. My clients come to me because they want to reconnect with themselves, with their bodies, with something deeper that feels just out of reach. And yet, when the invitation to move arises, something else shows up first. Control. Self-consciousness. The need to “get it right.” And it makes sense. We are conditioned to move with purpose, wi